Mission Journal: Putin imposes harsh climate on Russia

Record-high temperatures swept most of Europe this summer, but
in Moscow the weather, much like the political climate, was chilly. I spent three
months in the capital at the invitation of the Russian Union of Journalists, and witnessed
how Vladimir Putin's third term in office kicked off with the passage of
restrictive laws, harassment and prosecution of dissent, the jailing of an
irreverent punk-rock band, and death threats by a top-ranking official against
a prominent editor.

On Sunday, May 6, the day before Putin's inauguration, an
estimated 20,000 gathered in downtown Moscow for a
march toward Bolotnaya Ploshchad, a square within walking distance of the
Kremlin, to protest what they saw as Putin's illegitimate claim on Russia's top
office.

That day, authorities limited access to Moscow's downtown, closing
adjacent metro stations and streets. The explanation?--a scheduled rehearsal of
the May 9 Victory Day parade, an annual demonstration of Russia's military
might. In the preceding days, opposition activists from Russia's regions reported
being prevented from
traveling to Moscow to attend the protest. The websites of several
independent and pro-opposition media outlets, including the prominent business
daily Kommersant, the radio station
Ekho Moskvy, and the online television channel Dozhd, all experienced distributed
denial of service (DDoS) attacks that disabled them on May 6.

When protesters tried to break through a cordon of geared-up
riot police to head toward the Kremlin, tensions rose and a confrontation
ensued. Some protesters threw bottles and stones at the police, who pushed and clubbed
them. Amid frustration and adrenaline, the clash resulted in reports of about 30
injuries, all of police officers. It was unclear how many protesters were
hurt, but more than 400, including the rally organizers, were arrested.

The Kremlin's reaction to the clashes was instantaneous.
Putin spokesman Dmitry Peskov told Dozhd he thought police had acted softly
towards demonstrators, whom he referred to as provocateurs. "I'd rather they [police]
behave more harshly." His comment signaled what was to come: an unapologetic
crackdown on dissent, critical media, and civil society.

A month after stepping into office, Putin signed into law a
bill levying steep fines on protest organizers and participants, and
restricting their rights to peaceful assembly. The penalty imposed on individual
participants in rallies "unsanctioned" by the government is 300,000 rubles (more
than US$9,000); the penalty is double for rally organizers. The figures are
exorbitant in a country where the average monthly salary is less than 24,000 rubles
(around US$740). By mid-June, 15 activists were criminally charged with
separate counts of incitement to, organizing of, or participation in mass
disorder, as well as violence toward law enforcement, in connection with the
May 6 events. Police also raided the homes of several opposition leaders, most
notably 36-year-old anti-corruption activist Aleksei Navalny, who
has emerged as the boldest, most charismatic figure of the fledgling protest
movement. Navalny would later be charged
with "embezzlement" --a crime that carries up to 10 years in prison--after
Russia's Investigative Committee resurrected a case against him that previously
had been closed for lack of evidence.

The Kremlin did not wince at the group exodus, post
May 6, of human rights defenders, NGO leaders, and civil activists from the presidential
human rights council--a liaison office between Russia's top leaders and civil
society. (Among the prominent figures who departed were human rights defender
and former Nobel Peace Prize nominee Svetlana Gannushkina, veteran media rights
advocate Aleksei Simonov, and legendary founder of the Moscow Helsinki Group
Lyudmila Alekseyeva.) On the contrary, Putin proceeded to sign a bill that de-facto
outlawed civil society. The legislation, which came into effect on July 21,
obligates all NGOs that receive international funding and are involved in
"political activity"--without a clear definition of that term--to register as
foreign agents with Russia's Justice Ministry. Needless to say, having to
register as a foreign agent in Russia is like being forced to wear the proverbial
scarlet letter. The Kremlin has long sought to vilify activists who receive
grants from abroad as being bought by the West to create unrest and undermine
Russia's stability. Most recently, in early spring, a series of so-called
documentaries aired repeatedly in prime time on the state-controlled NTV
national television channel, portraying civil society
leaders as traitors paid by the U.S. State Department to stage and
participate in anti-government rallies.

The registration process for NGOs in Russia is already a
cumbersome, costly, and time-consuming endeavor set by a restrictive law. But
the new "foreign agents" legislation adds extra reporting-to-the-government
requirements. Colleagues at the Russian Union of Journalists told me the law would
create extra work for the already-stretched accounting department and make the
group more vulnerable to bureaucratic harassment.

Nine days after signing the restrictive NGO bill, Putin
signed two other laws that directly harm independent media. The first one recriminalizes
defamation in the country--a rollback of then-President Dmitry Medvedev's
decriminalization of libel and insult last November. In returning defamation to
the criminal books, Putin approved a maximum fine of 5 million rubles (US$150,000)
for those convicted--a significant jump from the previously provisioned 3,000
rubles (US$100). Such a sum would be prohibitive for independent and
pro-opposition media in Russia, and makes them extra vulnerable to politically motivated
prosecution. A staffer with the independent newspaper Novaya Gazeta told me that after Putin signed the law, editors convened
a meeting with legal advisers in anticipation of politically motivated defamation
claims.

The second
bill Putin signed
into law on July 30 allowed for websites carrying "unlawful content" to be
blacklisted in Russia. Though ostensibly created to curb child pornography, the
law's vague definitions of unlawful content--including such stretchy concepts
of "making war propaganda" and "inciting inter-ethnic hatred"--allows for broad
interpretation. Observers worry that the law could be selectively used to
silence critical online content. In recent years, the Internet has emerged as a
home for independent, alternative news and views, as well as civil and
political activism. The new law allows authorities to close down websites
without a court order.

The beginning of Putin's third term in office was marred by
politically motivated prosecutions and harassment.

In one prominent example, Aleksandr Lebedev, a banker and
key shareholder in Novaya Gazeta,
reported being harassed by police, who told him they had "some order from
above" to investigate his business, The New York Times said in early
August. "The special services steamrolled my business into the pavement,"
Lebedev told the news agency Interfax. "I give up." It is unclear what that
could mean for Novaya Gazeta, which
is one of a handful of publications in Russia that investigates top-level
wrongdoing and publishes searing commentary on the country's power structures.

Exactly such commentary apparently
pushed Aleksandr Bastrykin, the head of the federal Investigative Committee--the
body tasked with investigating severe crimes in Russia--to threaten the life of Novaya Gazeta deputy editor Sergey
Sokolov in early June. In a self-described "emotional breakdown" Bastrykin ordered
his guards to put the journalist in a car and drive him to a forest outside of
Moscow, where he asked his guards to leave them alone and proceeded to make
graphic death
threats against Sokolov. Sokolov left the country, fearing for his life.
Bastrykin later apologized
for his conduct at a press conference with Novaya Gazeta's editor-in-chief Dmitry Muratov, who said he
considered the matter to be settled. But many asked whether offering an apology
is enough redemption for a top-ranking official in charge of investigating
severe crimes--including murders of journalists.

An apology was not enough, meanwhile, to keep three members
of the feminist punk-rock band Pussy Riot out of prison for singing in a
church. In perhaps the most emblematic case yet of how far Putin 2.0 is
determined to go to crush dissent, the performers were tried and jailed for staging a
flash mob in Moscow's
main Orthodox Church in February. During the irreverent stunt, the band,
wearing colorful balaclavas, "prayed" to the Virgin Mother to "banish Putin." Even
though Pussy Riot's stunt, upon the band's own admission, was a purely political
statement, authorities insisted it was an act of religious hatred. Patriarch
Kirill, head of the Russian Orthodox Church and a staunch Putin supporter, publicly
condemned it as "blasphemous."

Despite an international outcry, including from
international megastars such as Sting, Madonna,
and Paul McCartney, a Moscow court pronounced 22-year-old Nadezhda
Tolokonnikova, 24-year-old Maria Alyokhina, and 30-year-old Yekaterina
Samutsevich, guilty of "hooliganism motivated by religious hatred," and slammed
them with two-year prison sentences. Defending
the court's decision, Putin told the Kremlin-sponsored English-language
television channel Russia Today, that the "state is obligated to protect the
feelings of the faithful."

The band's supporters disagree. "If they had sung 'Virgin
Mother, save Putin,' there would have been no trial at all," Yevgeniya
Albats, editor-in-chief of the independent newsweekly The New Times,told Ekho
Moskvy.

Nina Ognianova is coordinator of CPJ’s Europe and Central Asia Program. A native of Bulgaria, Ognianova has carried out numerous fact-finding and advocacy missions across the region. Her commentaries on press freedom have appeared in the Guardian, the International Herald Tribune, the Huffington Post, and the EU Observer, among others. Follow her on Twitter @Kremlinologist1